…you’re probably not going to like my book. Save your twenty bucks. Buy some Chicken Soup for the Soul. Or some chicken wings. Whatever. No hard feelings.

If you’re one of the ones who gave me grief after my recent breastfeeding article, however, GREAT NEWS: I’ve changed my tune! In my book, I decided to write only about the happy side of breastfeeding. Because that’s the only way to ensure women will continue to squirt the ol’ boob juice into their hungry children’s gobs – if we only show them the good parts of the process. So that when the bad stuff happens to them – like breast pain or infection or no milk or too much milk – they’ll just think they’re freaks of nature because hey, look at the rest of us, we are all having a wicked titty-suckin’ time over here. You suck at breastfeeding na na na na na FREAK.

Ah yes, breastfeeding. Breastfeeding, breastfeeding, breastfeeding. It’s just so terrific. As soon they placed my newborn on my chest, he latched on and sucked to his heart’s delight. It was totes amazing, and helped me forget that there was a complete stranger sewing up my beef curtains at the very same time. Thanks for the distraction, sucky son!

And wow, I never knew how long my nipples actually were. The human body is truly astounding…such a contortionist! I should sign these puppies up for clown school. Cirque de So-Lait, here we come!

And day-um, look at my rack right now. It’s all big and full of delicious milk, and sometimes it’s so full I can barely move my arms so I get to practice doing the robot…huh? Huh? Good, right? Oh wait, watch this, I’m Dick Van Dyke doing the THE PENGUIN. You don’t need no dang arms for this shite, yo.

And, well, since we’re talking about the wonders of motherhood…childbirth…it was a DREAM. When his ginormous head exploded through my furburger…wasn’t that the cutest? And then my insides were, like, hanging out of me. Tremendous. My INSIDES, on the OUTSIDE…I mean, isn’t that like some kind of phenomenon? God I hope my husband took a picture of that for the family album of miracles. I want to look at it over and over again, especially when I’m eating barbecue ribs.

Hush. I better keep it down now, contain my jubilation. REAL woman speak softly, remember. A TRUE mother would not speak so boldly (let alone blog about it to the world.) But if you must express your thoughts, stick to the clean, happy ones, okay mommies? If other women hear you and suspect this mommy stuff might be a tad unpleasant, every woman everywhere might stop breastfeeding and reproducing, and humankind – all 8 billion of us – will slowly go the way of the dodo.

You can start blaming me for the extinction of the human race now. Bring on the hate mail. Breast Is Best. It is Also the WORST. Page 28, MotherFumbler. Word to your mutha.